I feel like I need to apologize for writing a story about Rolfe. I'm still a bit dumbfounded that I wrote one - and from his point of view, no less (after such a long hiatus in which I struggled with a perfectly legitimate M/G story).
It's a challenge at the best of times to write anything remotely empathic about a villain - but Rolfe has the added distinction of being a villain of the rather... pansy sort? I sometimes get to thinking how he turned out that way - and eventually I could sort of see it. If you're not bored or disgusted to death by the thought of Rolfe, I'd love to hear what you think. :)
This is also an unorthodox use of (and was inspired by) one of the SOM prompts. ;)
The Things That Set Us Apart
It was well past midnight when his Lieutenant came out of the meeting and found him still sitting on the bench by the front door. "Go home boy. Get some rest." The man's voice was gruff, worn with frustration and anger and exasperation that somehow, Von Trapp had slipped away under their very noses.
Rolfe had attended the first part of the meeting, hastily convened to discuss what could be done about the elusive Captain Von Trapp. He had given his account of what happened, his voice echoed by the sound of a pen as an officer scribbled rapidly into the minutes.
Rolfe, at the back of the troop, had heard a sound from the courtyard, and stayed behind to investigate. It had been the Captain and his family, but the Captain, with his years of military strength, had overpowered him almost immediately. Rolfe was almost shot, but in the chaos of the running children, he had managed to pull free and escape. The Captain and his family had disappeared.
Nobody questioned his version of events. He had said all the right things, staring at his neatly folded hands on the table, refusing to meet anybody's eyes. When the ordeal was over, he had been given the choice to stay, and the offer told him more than anything that tonight, he had earned a place for himself among the officers of the Party. He was no longer the blond-haired, blue-eyed Austrian youth recruited for his looks. He was one of them, now.
But something in him couldn't stay. Not tonight, anyways. Outside and alone on the wooden bench in front of their new headquarters, Rolfe marveled bitterly over the irony that just earlier this evening, he knew he couldn't leave, and now, he couldn't stay.
Rolfe initially felt a sense of relief after Captain Von Trapp had disappeared down the steps in the Abbey courtyard. Relief, not that he was alive – he alone knew how much danger he had really been in – but that he could forget about the conflict that had plagued him all evening.
But his encounter with the Captain tonight had taught him the most unfortunate lesson. Loyalty – and love, as it turned out – wasn't about saying the right things, or being with the right people. He had to care – and care deeply. He had to choose – and choose wisely.
Rolfe hadn't expected to feel moved, sitting in the crowd at the Salzburg Music Festival as Captain Von Trapp took to the stage. He had been told for months now that the Austria they knew was a crippled and derelict artifact from another age, and the new Austria that would rise under Nazi occupation would be a superpower. Rolfe was ready for it, had been training for it, had been offered a place in it he'd never had before.
But when the Captain's voice broke and the stadium swelled in song, Rolfe had the absurd impulse to join in for that final chorus of Edelweiss, swept up in a sudden and inexplicable love for his country. But he couldn't be one of them – especially not with his Lieutenant and Herr Zeller looking on with such dour expressions.
And then there had been the chase, equal parts terrifying and exhilarating. Rolfe had lingered behind in that cold courtyard cemetery, unable to say why – only that he knew intuitively something seemed out of place. It wasn't until after the fact he recognized the sweet scent of Liesl's perfume.
Rolfe wondered about the moment he swung the flashlight toward the soft sounds as the Von Trapps emerged from hiding. Its light cut through darkness and gravestone, as the chilly night air of the cloister in the mountains reminded him he was violating God's sacred space. And he wondered why the trembling of his arm and the pounding of his heart betrayed him even as he took his stance.
"Rolfe, please." It was Liesl, of course it was Liesl. She stood level with her father, unafraid, her voice plaintive but a little bit hopeful, reaching for him through the darkness.
He wondered what it would mean to help her. But the moment was fleeting, much like all the moments he'd ever spent with Liesl. When their eyes met, Rolfe knew that he couldn't help her. Wouldn't help her.
The first time Rolfe met Liesl, he remembered sitting in class, impatiently craning for a glimpse of whatever the teacher was passing around. They were having a botany lesson. The classroom was filled with smells of various plants, and the delighted yells of the younger kids waving around handfuls of dirt.
"Does anyone know what this is?"
There was a long pause as the plant was passed around, and Rolfe found himself starting to get bored. Couldn't the Fraulein at least pass around more than one?
"Lavender, teacher." The girl's voice was bright and dainty. Rolfe looked around to locate its source. When he found her, he examined the girl with interest, narrowing his eyes the way he had seen his older brothers do. He'd never seen her before - he supposed she was one of the new kids who had enrolled this year - but he liked her dark bouncing curls and her pretty smile.
"Very good, Liesl." The teacher gave her a fond nod, before turning to the class at large and holding up the small, dried bouquet. Rolfe could see tall spikes of tiny purple flowers. "This is lavender. It's a plant which is not native to Austria, as it tends to grow better in dry, sunny climates." She gave Liesl another encouraging nod and a smile. "I didn't expect anyone to recognize it."
Liesl smiled with obvious delight, and Rolfe scowled. Teacher's pet. "It's because of my parents. My father always brings a bouquet for my mother when he come home." She hesitated, her smile slipping. "He – he doesn't come back very often, you see."
A peculiar kind of understanding and reverence crept across the Fraulein's face. "Of course, Captain von Trapp." Again she addressed the class. "Liesl's father is a decorated naval hero – " she placed a hand on Liesl's shoulder " – and we are all very proud of him."
Rolfe had felt a strange mixture of curiosity, desire, and jealousy. Here was a girl who clearly had everything, who came from a mysterious family with an influence far beyond what he had known growing up in town. Even the teacher doted on her simply for being who she was.
He remembered the feeling of nine-year old vindication when someone else asked derisively, "A bouquet from another country? Why would anyone want a bunch of wilted flowers?" Rolfe had laughed along with the other boys.
Liesl's eyes flashed past him to land on the classmate who had made the comment. "That was the point. He buys the bouquet at his first port, and carries it with him the whole time he's at sea. Lavender smells stronger and sweeter the longer you keep it, you see."
"Much like love," the teacher smiled. "What a touching way to let your mother know he was thinking about her all that time. Beautiful story - thank you for sharing, Liesl."
Rolfe snorted quietly. He didn't personally know anyone who had been in the Great War, but his parents had an acquaintance who had been with the ground troops. He had died in battle, Rolfe remembered – and good riddance, his mother used to say, or else he would have come back to find his wife already married to someone else.
He liked pretending he was a soldier. He and his friends often had play battles in their free time, and it was a great game to pass the time. But, Rolfe thought, if he ever really did become a soldier, he certainly wouldn't be spending all his time mooning over some girl.
Sometime the following week, Rolfe was sitting against a tree by the schoolyard, reading a book and half-listening as his friends chased each other along the nearby riverbank. Normally, he'd never be caught dead reading a book, but Rolfe had twisted his ankle two nights previously helping his father unload a shipment of lumber.
His family had a logging business, run by his father and his two older brothers. Rolfe was the baby of the family, doted on by his gossip-loving mother and largely ignored by his father. After all, there were already two grown strapping sons to carry on the family business – one whom also had a knack of landing good deals. Rolfe didn't really mind. It let him do whatever he wanted growing up, and there was no one to notice his many transgressions.
Lost in thought, Rolfe was startled by a loud voice right over his head. "Can I read here with you?" A girl in a pale pink dress threw herself down beside him without waiting for his reply. Liesl.
He flushed pink with embarrassment, but nodded. He watched her from the corner of his eye as she pulled out her book, carefully removing something and laying it aside, and began to read.
Rolfe raised his eyebrows suspiciously. Their class was large and spanned several years, but he suspected that even if that wasn't the case, he and Liesl were different enough they shouldn't be friends. He studied her thoughtfully. Liesl seemed engrossed in her book, stretched out comfortably on the grass, her brown hair pulled back into a careless ponytail. His eyes fell on the object she had taken out from the book, a sprig of something with tiny purple flowers.
"Is that…" Rolfe started, before realizing he had said something.
She looked up at him curiously. Seeing what he was looking at, she picked it up. "Lavender," she nodded. "I was pressing it in my book."
"Oh."
"Want to see?" Liesl held it out for him.
Rolfe had started reaching for it, but abruptly pulled back, shaking his head. "No thanks," he said nonchalantly.
"Why not?" Her voice was perplexed, but he met her eyes and saw they were warm and friendly, and Rolfe felt a rush of eagerness he'd never experienced before.
A half smile had started forming on his face, before a sudden yelp from one of the boys brought him back to his senses.
He smirked, leaning back against the tree. "Flowers are for girls."
Liesl shrugged, unconcerned. "Okay." She turned back to her book, and he turned back to his, covertly glancing at her through his lashes.
Those darn flowers. A part of him wanted to take back what he'd said, wanted to respond to her easy-going friendship, wanted to respond to that spark of excitement he'd felt. By some uncanny clarity, he could see that if they were friends, something could change, in a good way. But the shy part of him didn't know what to say. Rolfe waited, but she didn't look up, and eventually, he settled for wondering what would have happened if he had just taken those flowers.
When his ankle got better and he could run by the river and skip rocks with his friends again, Rolfe quickly forgot he ever regretted saying no.
When Liesl missed a month of school, Rolfe heard that the Baroness Von Trapp had died. Suddenly, he found himself thinking about her, the Captain, and lavender, all over again.
The day Rolfe learned that Captain Von Trapp was drinking himself under the table with despair, he had been allowed to join his brothers and father at the beer hall for the first time. Somehow, by some turn of conversation he'd missed, someone had found that observation uproariously funny.
Rolfe stared into the many empty bottles on the table, and thought perhaps the lavender story was silly after all, and the Captain was a fool for allowing love to weaken him.
The boys didn't really have a plan the first time they'd decided to skip class. They'd been poking fun at old Fraulein Anya's thick spectacles, and someone had remarked she probably couldn't even tell if half the class was missing. When they quickly found that she really didn't notice their absence from class, nobody objected to the idea of playing hooky every so often.
They didn't go looking for trouble. They spent most of their time loitering around the big fountain in town, staying out of the way, ignoring tourists and businesspeople and commuters alike.
As a result, they were startled and confused one day when they were approached by a small group of men in suits, greeted with firm handshakes and jovial smiles. Recruiters, the men said, from the Hitler Youth, and wouldn't they be interested in attending a meeting to hear what it was all about?
The boys hadn't really made sense of the group, or what their proclaimed 'people's community' aimed to achieve – but they were warmly welcomed into meetings where they met other young men from town and beyond, and food was provided. Rolfe, in particular, was particularly popular, with his shock of white-blond hair and baby-blue eyes, the poster-boy of recruits.
For the first time in his life, Rolfe stood out. He liked the feeling of approval, of belonging, of feeling useful. And so he listened, a little more carefully than his friends, and slowly - so subtly he didn't really notice - his allegiance was won.
Rolfe was sixteen when he realized getting a girl meant going to great lengths.
It had started as a game of dare. All summer, the boys had been daring each other to do all sorts of foolish things. Most were harmless, apart from the time they'd received a verbal lashing from a long-faced, sharp-tongued nun when one of them had tried unsuccessfully to complete his dare of snatching off her wimple.
It had taken them a few weeks to get over her thorough thrashing. The school year was already in full swing and they were again sitting by the fountain watching class being dismissed for the day when suddenly, someone tapped Rolfe on the shoulder. "Liesl."
"What?" Surprised, he followed the boy's gaze to where Liesl was waiting with her siblings for their ride home.
"My dare. I dare you to kiss Liesl."
The other boys laughed, and Rolfe flushed, causing them to laugh harder. He gritted his teeth. He knew the rules; you couldn't turn down a dare.
It wasn't that he lacked experience. Over the years, Rolfe and the boys had learned how to be friendly – and then some – with the right type of girls. Girls who were coquettish and eager to please, who curled their hair and put on rouge to attend class, who cared more about a handsome face than what lay beneath. Girls who were looking for a good time – and Rolfe was more than happy to oblige.
Liesl was different. Her mannerisms were different and her interests were different and the way she spoke was different. She was a girl, and a very pretty one, but all the same, there was something a little odd about her. They'd made fun of her for it at first, but she'd treated them with icy contempt and an occasional flash of sarcasm. Liesl Von Trapp could certainly hold her own, and the ridicule had turned into a delicate sort of respect. She had her siblings and her own group of girlfriends, but none of the boys – not even the most self-assured – had ever made a pass at her.
And everyone knew the reputation that preceded Captain Von Trapp. If word got out that Rolfe had kissed his daughter, he would be in for it.
Thoughtfully, Rolfe watched as one of Liesl's sisters tugged playfully on her arm, and heard her clear laugh in response as she chased the other girl in a circle. There was something so childish about her behavior he shook his head in amusement. They hadn't talked in ages, but he was suddenly reminded of the girl he had spoken to all those years ago – carefree and naïve, reading her books and pressing her flowers.
"Fine," he said at last. "I'll do it."
The next few weeks brought merciless jabs and teasing from the boys, which Rolfe patiently endured. He had a plan, and he could wait. He admittedly didn't know much about Liesl Von Trapp, but there were a few things he did know.
He knew before he approached her that it would work. He sat through class that morning, and when lunchtime came, followed her to her usual spot by the river. Before she could pull out her book, he was at her side.
"Liesl."
"Rolfe! What are you doing here?" She jumped, a rosy flush staining her cheeks.
In a way, she had changed. The Liesl he once knew had flopped down mere inches beside him without a care in the world. She was uncertain, and there was a new shyness to her he hadn't expected. An unfamiliar ache in his chest made him cut the suave lines of dialogue he had prepared.
"I wanted to give you these."
Her eyes widened and lit up, all at once. "Lavender," she breathed. "Dried lavender. But – Rolfe, this is for me?"
"Yes. But come to think of it, now they smell like apple blossoms." He frowned comically.
She giggled, suddenly at ease. "Those would be the apple blossoms in my bag."
Rolfe smiled back. "I saw these, and thought of you. I kept it, and kept thinking of you." That was a rehearsed line, and it wasn't quite the truth. He had gone to considerable trouble to get his hands on a measly bouquet of lavender, and paid a pretty fortune. But funny enough, the longer he had it, the more he did think about her.
Liesl looked down, blushing furiously. He noticed the delicate pattern her long lashes made against her creamy skin.
Tentatively, she leaned in and reached for them. Their fingers met, then their eyes met, and Rolfe knew that he had her.
He didn't kiss her. Not for the dare, anyway.
Instead, he walked her home that day. He walked her home every day he went to class. Soon, Rolfe found his attendance drastically improving – and not just because he wanted to walk with her. Liesl was a good student, and something about her enthusiasm made him want to keep up. When he saw some of the boys' faces contort in bemused disbelief, he ignored them.
She told him about her summer, about the pranks she and her siblings had played that scared off two governesses in as many weeks. She described her large house, and how the grounds were so extensive her father needed a whistle to call for them. She talked about her father's absence in their life, and how she missed her mother. Not just her mother, but somebody she could call a mother. Liesl spun her privileges into clever and funny stories, and spoke about her tragedies candidly and openly.
Rolfe had never spent time with anyone he cared to hear talk about themselves, or even more unusually, simultaneously want to tell her about himself. He was never a great conversationalist, but he told her about his brothers, their small house in town, and how he had just gotten a job as a letter carrier.
He let her hold his hand while she walked along the perimeter of the fountain, held her umbrella when it rained, and caught her at the bottom of the steep drop to the riverbed.
Once, when Liesl saw him approach and detached herself from her siblings, Rolfe overhead the youngest girl – Gretl, he remembered – ask one of her older sisters, "who is he?"
Rolfe coloured, suddenly self-conscious.
The younger boy – Kurt – cut in, "that's her beau, of course." Fredrich had jabbed him in the ribs as the younger girls giggled.
Rolfe turned away. But Liesl had seen the silly grin plastered on his face, and rewarded him with a peck on the cheek.
When his brother cornered him one day and demanded to know what was going on between him and the Von Trapp girl, Rolfe looked him straight in the eye and said, "I like her."
The first time it happened, he couldn't remember the conversation that led to his Youth group leader wanting to hear all about the Von Trapps, and his developing friendship with Liesl.
When it happened again, Rolfe had the uncomfortable distinction of being taken aside and questioned on exactly how much he knew of Captain Von Trapp. When it became clear he knew only about the Captain's past and nothing of his plans, he was released with a smile and asked to keep his ears open.
From that point on, every telegram delivered to the Von Trapp house resulted in a careful cross-examination of the Captain's status and whereabouts.
Rolfe was introduced to a man named Franz, who turned out to be the Von Trapp's butler. He wanted to tell Liesl that her imitations of his snobbishness had been spot on, but school was out for the year, and he hadn't yet found a good excuse to see her.
He was busy that summer, having been asked to enlist in military boot camp, in addition to his regular meetings. He ran long miles every day, and marched endlessly with a rucksack full of bricks to the tune of the drill sergeant's whistle. He learned to assemble, load, and shoot a gun. He wanted to protest that he would never actually use it on anyone, but he swallowed it. He couldn't afford to be labeled a dissenter, or worse, be seen as weak.
He rarely spoke about Liesl, but somehow, the topic seemed to come up. He was told it was for the best not to become too attached to Liesl Von Trapp. He wanted to protest that it was more than infatuation, but he swallowed it. He didn't know how to defend her when his new Lieutenant told him he was better than that, and could do better than her.
Rolfe kept his head down, did his work, listened to his Lieutenant, supported the party's new policies, and nodded whenever anybody mentioned the Von Trapp family traitors.
By the time he saw Liesl that summer, and they kissed for the first time in that rainy gazebo, Rolfe couldn't tell if he was dancing with his sweetheart or fraternizing with the enemy's daughter.
Rolfe, please.
Their gaze locked across the eerie expanse of cemetery, hers searching, his hunted.
It was no use. He couldn't choose her. Had never chosen her.
Liesl looked away, and the Captain unlocked the gates with a hint of violence that jolted right through him. Desperately, he drew his gun. The Captain stilled, and it was almost more terrifying than his violence.
Rolfe had him cornered. He had the upper hand. But he wondered why he was the one shaking like a leaf.
"Maria." The Captain's voice was low. It sounded more like a caress than a direction. "Children."
And Rolfe heard, rather than saw, the children and Liesl slip past him into the darkness. He felt the Captain's wife hesitate just a moment longer, heard the I love you, even though nothing had been said. Rolfe saw the Captain exhale, his steadfast blue eyes bright in the night.
And he thought he finally understood. The lavender story was true after all, and in this moment when they stood on opposite sides of a gun, Rolfe finally believed it. Love hadn't made the Captain weaker. It's what sustained him. Love for his family. For his wife. For his country.
And it was Rolfe's cause that seemed foolish by comparison. A cause born from the only choice he'd made long ago without knowing or caring that he had made it.
Now alone, the Captain advanced on him, unafraid of the weapon in his hands. He seemed to grow in statue as he drew closer. "You don't really belong to them." His voice was gentle, cajoling.
Rolfe stumbled back blindly, away from the Captain's outstretched hand like an injured animal.
"Come away with us, before it's too late."
Rolfe met his calm blue gaze with his own terrified eyes, and the offer hung between them like a scrap offering to a beggar. Some part of Rolfe clung to it like a talisman, and he almost blurted he would. It was the same part of him that had wanted to be friends with Liesl. That had, however briefly, wanted to believe the lavender story – been inspired by the lavender story, even. The part of him that exchanged a meaningless dare for cherished walks home. It was the same part of him that had been moved by the Captain's love ballad tonight.
He could have chosen it. Liesl. Those stupid lavenders. Love. Loyalty. All of it.
He could have chosen the things that mattered to him, and then maybe he too, would have something to sustain him now.
And just like that, Rolfe knew in no uncertain terms that he would gladly trade all his tomorrows for a single yesterday. All his tomorrows as Herr Zeller's lapdog, for any number of yesterdays that he had scoffed at and rejected and brushed aside in the past. All his tomorrows, for a chance to make a choice that truly belonged to him.
In one smooth movement, the Captain slid the gun out of his hands, and Rolfe froze. "You will never be one of them."
He stiffened. Captain Von Trapp's voice held a challenge with a hint of derision, and Rolfe thought the Captain knew that maybe, just maybe, he didn't want to be.
But it was already too late. If he didn't really belong to the Party, then he was alone.
And then Rolfe blew his whistle.